The bay tree’s gone,
chopped to let the sunlight in,
but fighting back with fresh shoots
and a surprise
fluorescent yellow evening primrose
growing at its roots.
Yesterday, I walked in places new,
soaked my idle boots in dew
dodged overhanging branches
and brambles still heavy with plump fruit,
across recently ploughed fields
to sudden joy – a crop of daisies,
lazy in the early autumn sun.
Today I have another reason
to release a gasped hurrah,
the long-awaited blooming
of my one and only sunflower.
Kim M. Russell, 9th September 2020
My response to earthweal weekly challenge: The Joy
For this week’s challenge, Brendan would like some poems of joy: for their own sake, in their own manner and diction; high joy, dark joy, sweet joy, profane joy.